Poetry about longing.

My Uncle’s TV

was left on our doorstep
a month after his funeral
with a note taped
to the back:

He wanted you to have this–

the TV that is now centered
on an antique dresser
in our living room.

And no matter what channel
we watch, the only thing
I see is his reflection
in the screen the morning
he killed himself.

Sitting in his recliner.
His tarnished horseshoe
trophies surrounding him.
Hair a dark cloud above
his downturned face.
Shotgun in his left hand.
Yellow legal pad
on the coffee table.

Sitting there smoldering
like the cigarette
in the ashtray
beside him.

Until the buckshot
snuffs him
out.

Corey D. Cook‘s work has recently appeared or is forthcoming in Columbia College Literary Review, East Coast Literary Review, and Dewpoint Literary Journal. He lives in Thetford Center, Vermont and is currently trying to find a publisher for his fourth chapbook, White Flag Raised.